


Candy

by Starofwinter



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Candy Gore, Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Gore, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Murder, Non-Consensual Touching, Shock, Trauma, ironically the character named killer is the innocent one, terrible people doing terrible things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 11:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17848649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starofwinter/pseuds/Starofwinter
Summary: "It's just candy."





	Candy

**Author's Note:**

> If the tags didn't warn you, this is not a nice fic. You've been warned.

Something is wrong.  

Shrike knows what viscera looks like, how it feels on his skin, soaking into his blacks.  He knows what someone’s organs look like beneath his hands, the stink of blood and worse, and  _ this is wrong.  _

Candy.  It looks like candy, bright pinks and blues and greens, almost sparkling beneath the dim lights of the hold.  Replacing the stench, the sticky-sweet smell of sugar is almost cloying, catching in the back of his throat. 

He kind of wants to laugh, but he doesn’t, just tilts his head to observe the body.  It’s torn open, right through the chest and down the belly. Vibroblades are good for that.  

If this really is candy, no one can blame him for wanting to  _ taste _ it, right?  He’s not a freak or anything.  It’s candy, everybody likes that, and he hasn’t had anything sweet in  _ months _ on deployment.  

He brings his hand to his mouth and licks along his knuckles.   _ Sweet _ .  So sweet it almost makes him sick.  He licks it again, actually savoring it this time.  It’s a little addictive. What would the rest of it taste like?  He’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t find out.

Shrike presses the knife into muscle, filleting meat from bone, carefully carving pieces.  He’ll have to eat it raw, but he doesn’t care much about that. He’s had worse. It looks just like pieces of soft candy, sticky and just the right texture to sink his teeth into.  It’s perfect, and the heat that’s been itching under his skin starts to fade a little.

* * *

“What are you doing?”

Shrike jerks his head up, cursing himself for being too lost in what he’s doing.  The clone looking back at him doesn’t look shocked or disgusted or really like he’s even registering what he’s seeing.

He’s got a medical patch on his blacks - that would explain it.  Now that Shrike has a second to think, he can see the telltale tremors and glazed look of a bad stim crash and too little sleep and too much trauma.  No wonder, with the amount of shit they’d just waded through. The battle had been hard and nasty, too many dead on both sides. Not enough for him, he’d come back with lightning under his skin and the need to see the light go out of someone’s eyes again.  Coming back from an engagement was always the hardest part. He craved it, and he had to hide just how much he loved the thrill of holding the power of life and death in his hands. It always made the others skittish. 

Shrike looks up at the medic again.  He’s a cute one; pretty lavender hair that just matches the heart in Shrike’s hands, big doe eyes looking back at him, thin enough that he can see hints of bone showing through skin, all soft and trembling and already halfway to  _ wrecked. _  If he wasn’t busy, Shrike wouldn’t hesitate to take him back to his bunk to pin him down and show him a good time.  

As it is though, he’s wrist-deep in pastel guts, and he takes a chance.  He holds out a hand, dripping with syrupy blood, and offers a piece of the heart he just cut, “It’s just candy, vod.  Want some? You look like you need it.”

The medic doesn’t respond for a second, but he shakes himself a little and takes it - Shrike doesn’t bother to hide his own hungry look, but he doubts he’ll notice.  A drop of blood stains his lips bright purple, the same color as his hair, and before the kid can react, Shrike leans up and kisses it away. The medic pulls away, shaking his head.  “I- I can’t, I have someone-”

“It’s alright, I’m sorry-” he  _ isn’t _ , in fact he’s annoyed at not getting more, but he won’t press it, “You should get some sleep, you look exhausted.”  

The medic nods, still glassy-eyed and deep in shock.  Kriff, if Shrike didn’t have this damned mess to deal with, he could probably do  _ anything  _ and he wouldn’t even remember it.  He’s not getting sloppy just because he wants to get off though, so he stays where he is and watches the other clone wander off.  He can jerk off to the image later, but for now, he gathers up the pieces and wraps them all up in a scrap of the tarp he’d brought.  

The body’s disposed of - he’s learned how to be very good at that - and his treats are stashed away safely in a tiny cooling box under his bunk; no one is awake to see him slip in, no one knows anything.

Killer wakes up the next day with the taste of copper and salt in his mouth, but he brushes it off as a bite on the inside of his cheek during the nightmare of a stranger offering him candy with a too-wide smile and a body at his feet.


End file.
